Ordinary
by GrayGoddess
Summary: A princess born to Queen Loryasia and King Gorlond is not quite what they expected. Their other daughters are all beautiful and are quite flawless. But Gwendolyn is different...Lots of adventure coming!
1. A Princess is Born

**Who said all princesses were beautiful? When Queen Loryasia and King Gorlond II have a child, the land of Lorayne is joyous. But as she grows, everyone comes to realize she's not what they expected…**

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**A Princess is Born**

"Five days in labor, _five_!" the baker said excitedly to a customer, who was picking out some cake.

"Well, I'll be," crowed the customer. "What is it, a gorgon? It's just a child!"

"Yes, but this might mean something!" the baker waggled his finger.

"Mean something my foot. I'm a vicar!"

The baker looked surprised. "Oh. I see. Well, here's your order." He plopped the box onto the counter and the vicar paid five gilfigs.

All around Lorayne, there were whispers, gossip, letters, posts. All the women were traveling in groups, chattering loudly as they went by. The men talked over the counter in their jobs. The children spoke among themselves while playing ball. It was no secret; Queen Loryasia was having a child.

At long last, a trumpet sounded; the child was finally born, and well! Everyone cheered.

"Long live the King Gorlond! Long live the Queen Loryasia!" they chanted in unison, so loud that, in the great stone castle decorated lavishly for the child, the queen herself could hear them from her bed.

She was bleeding a great deal; which was not a good sign. But then they cleaned her up, she stopped bleeding, and all was well. She held the baby to her chest, who was crying awfully—something none of her other daughters had done—and smiled at the king.

"Oh, my dear, look at this little angel," Queen Loryasia said, passing the little girl to the king. He took her in his arms and cradled it to his own chest, smiling down on the little girl.

"She's the runt," he said proudly. "Just like me."

He planted a wet kiss on the red, wailing face, before the little girl hit his cheek softly with her little baby fingers.

The christening was held the next day. From then on, her name was Gwendolyn Alicia Lena Atheista Lombardo, which was her last name.

People came from all over Lorayne for the reception afterward, which had many cakes, cookies, muffins, a great candied castle that some young children were taking turns licking, music, dancing, and the giving of gifts to the baby.

Queen Loryasia was anxiously awaiting the seven fairies; the Fairy Queen, and her five apprentices, the Generous fairy, the Kind fairy, the Temperamental fairy, the Eager fairy, and the Angry fairy, and then the fairy greater than the Fairy Queen; Aedna the world fairy, who could give any sort of blessing upon a child, though the child had to be royal. A regular child who was born in town did not get blessings from the fairies.

And then they entered; first Aedna, then the Fairy Queen, then the Angry fairy, the Temperamental fairy, the Eager fairy, the Kind fairy, and then the Generous fairy. Each apprentice could give the child two gifts, the Fairy Queen and Aedna as many as they wanted. The crowd separated until they could walk single file down the path. They first approached the queen and king, kissed their hands, and then surrounded the baby.

Gwendolyn was crying, her little red face twisted, her hands balled into fists. She was wiggling a lot in the grand cradle, her three other sisters watching uncertainly.

As Aedna was special, she blessed Gwendolyn last. Keeping a respectable distance between herself and the other fairies, she watched the Angry fairy bless Gwendolyn first.

"Reasonable temper, though only when necessary, and unable to hold a long grudge," the Angry fairy said, blowing gently into the girl's face. Gwendolyn stopped crying, and the queen smiled at the fairy, who smiled back and went back to her place around the girl.

The Temperamental fairy was next. Leaning close, she said loud enough so everyone in the room could hear (the music and dancing had stopped), "You will never get spoiled, and will usually maintain a happy demeanor." She blew delicately at the girl, and the little baby started beaming up at her, her smile still remaining when the Eager fairy bounced excitedly toward Gwendolyn and said in a bubbly voice, "Eager for adventure, happy to do as told, though not necessarily obedient." After blowing at Gwendolyn, she bounced back to her place.

The Kind fairy approached her. Watching the baby closely, she said, "You will be kind to those who you know and even _do not_ know, and you will be generous in your lifetime." She blew, then retreated.

The Generous Fairy walked until she was standing directly in front of the cradle. She pondered, then decided. "You will have great courage, and great self-confidence, though you shall never be proud." She blew and then stepped back to allow the Fairy Queen to place as many blessings as she liked on the child.

The Fairy Queen was wearing a colorful robe, that glittered in the light, unlike her apprentices, who were dressed in one solid color each, and she held a staff in one hand, with a giant globe on top. A small tiara glistened on her pool of silky black hair. The Fairy Queen closed her eyes, which were green, yellow, gold, and blue at the same time, and said in a grand voice, "You will be optimistic always, though never too much so. You will never think of things as 'too hard' though you will never think of them as 'too easy' either. You will not give up so easily, and you will pick up languages of the other worlds quickly. You will be extremely intelligent, even without education, and you will be loved and cherished by everyone who knows you."

She clapped her hands briskly, and everyone could see small glitters coming from her hands and falling on the baby, but they immediately vanished into Gwendolyn's skin.

She stepped back to allow Aedna pass. Aedna was wearing magnificent robes of green, blue, yellow, and brown. Her hand hovered over Gwendolyn's face and she said, "You will not be your regular princess. You will not have the same cares about their hair or their garments like them. You will be different, even better than them. You will find comfort in the wilderness, away from propriety and what-not. You will communicate easily with animals of every sort. And at seventeen, you will marry your true love."

Smoke swirled from the hand hovering over the girl, and the queen watched as it sank into the girl. Then the fairies vanished, one by one, each with a small _pop!_

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"She will be different, even _better_ than princesses? I cannot fathom what that means!" The queen said, who was still brooding over the events of the day.

"I cannot either, my love," King Gorlond said. "But perhaps we shall see as she grows up."

And they did. Gwendolyn grew up the way the fairies blessed her; she grew angry when it was extremely important, though she was unable to hold a grudge for very long. Gwendolyn never got spoiled, she was nearly always happy (and not only for herself, but for everyone around her), she was extremely adventurous and tried even the strangest dishes that were served to her, which no one else would so much as _touch_, she was happy to do as told, she was generous, kind, she had more courage than the castle guards, self-confident, never prideful, stubborn, optimistic…the list went on and on.

But there was definitely one thing she was not; a princess-like woman.

For one thing, she did not _look _like a princess. She had wavy brown hair instead of blond, which all the other princesses the world had ever seen had, hazel eyes instead of clear blue, and she did not _act_ like one. For instance, she would slide down the big railing of the stairs, she wouldn't care about ruining her dress or her hair, and she was constantly having her dresses washed because of the dirt and grass stains found on them, from her daily romps in the woods. She had adopted a squirrel, who loved her very much; Mr. Nittle, she called him, a handsome gray squirrel with a magnificent tail.

She rarely came to her etiquette lessons (hence her terrible manners) and she was terribly clumsy—constantly tripping or dropping things.

She did not have the delicate body of usual princesses, either; in fact, she had a very strongly built body, meant for climbing trees, walls, and running around, unlike the small and rather frail body of a regular princess, only good for sitting and embroidering, or reading, or perhaps just _sitting_. But no, Gwendolyn always had other things on her mind; she could never worry about her embroidery, for she was an awful sewer and embroiderer, and she cared for only the books that gave her information, not idle books of romances or anything like that. And so she grew up extremely intelligent, just as the Fairy Queen blessed her to be. And she did not worry about her looks, let alone _notice _them—and she was not particularly attractive, either.

So while her three other sisters, perfect princesses in every way, were busy taking lessons on etiquette, embroidering, or what ever all those lessons were for, Gwendolyn was out, running around the woods, lakes, streams, or creeks, taking Mr. Nittle with her (he sat on her shoulder all the time until she had to leave), and also feeding him delicious nuts she brought from the castle. No one minded; they knew it was part of the blessings she received, so no one tried and stopped her.

Though the thing that really bothered her mother was that Gwendolyn did not seem marriageable, no matter what the Aedna had blessed. She might marry her true love at seventeen, but who in the seven worlds would _that _be? Queen Loryasia hoped that it would be a king, or a prince at the least—she couldn't have her daughter's true love be a merchant or something, it just wasn't right! A princess had to continue being royalty.

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In Gwendolyn's fifteenth year, her freckles became extremely visible.

"Oh, they must be from all your outings," her mother said, slapping a bottle of special oil into Gwendolyn's hand. "Rub this on, they should go away in no time."

It was true that they should, had Gwendolyn not gone outside directly after.

"Oh, what are we to do?" Queen Loryasia said, wringing her hands the next day, noticing that Gwendolyn's freckles were still intact. "You must stay inside for a few weeks, and then they'll be gone."

"They'll only come back, dearest," the king replied, helping himself to more chicken and taking a few bites out of the meat. "There's no point trying. Besides, if she is to find her true love in two years, then he won't mind, will he?"

The queen shrugged meekly, and never brought the freckles up again.

For a long time, Gwendolyn had wondered who her true love would be.

"It had better not be someone who is not like me at all," she had said to her mother one day.

"What do you mean, Gwen?"

Gwendolyn had shrugged. "I don't want him to be…_princely_, if he is a prince. I want someone like me; adventurous, unable to care of trivial matters, such as…being royal."

Gwendolyn dearly hoped that he would be like her. And she certainly did not approve of the fairies making it so; shouldn't she choose who she married?

When she had brought it up to her father, he had answered, "But they're just blessing you so you'll marry your soul mate _earlier _in life than usual, darling. It'll still be the person you love."

Gwendolyn now understood, but still! At seventeen? And even now, two years before then, she was not interested. She supposed she would worry about it later.

"Won't, I, Mr. Nittle?"

The handsome gray squirrel chattered loudly, nibbling on a peanut.

"Yes, I will. Besides, I have two more years left of freedom," she ended wistfully, wishing she could be free forever. She looked around sadly, wishing she could live here.

"It would be wonderful to live here."

Mr. Nittle chattered some more.

"Really? That's wonderful."

Mr. Nittle nibbled some more, then chattered.

"You are very fortunate. So am I! But…I wish to live here. Perhaps my parents would allow me to. Do you think so?"

Mr. Nittle made some strange noise, like a clicking sound.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose you are right; they're the king and queen, they wouldn't." Gwendolyn laughed ruefully.


	2. So many memories

**So many memories**

"Gwendolyn!"

The girl in question spun around and promptly crashed into a tree. Rubbing her nose, she looked around for the caller.

"Gwen!"

A beautiful girl with cropped black hair and yellow eyes came running from a small, dilapidated wooden house. She flung her arms round the gangly Gwen and leaned back to smile.

"Something wonderful has happened," the girl cried excitedly.

Gwendolyn took the girl's hands. "What?"

The girl spun around lightly on her tiny feet. "I am to be _engaged_!"

Gwendolyn's smile vanished. "Engaged?" she said, unable to keep the horrified shock from her voice.

The girl's look of glee was replaced with disappointment. "You're not pleased, Gwen?"

"Oh, no, oh no!" Gwendolyn gave a forced smile to her best friend. "I was just…shocked! Wonderfully so. Congratulations! Who is the lucky man?"

The girl blushed and hit her playfully on the arm. "He's a blacksmith. Would you like to meet him?"

Gwendolyn shook her head. "I—I must be going. My mother expects me." She lied, and turned and ran.

How could she be _engaged_? When all they talked about was being friends forever and never leaving each other. Gwendolyn ran until she reached her tree, or the tree she had always sat under whenever she was sad. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring out into the distance without really seeing it. She took several deep breaths, and wondered how she could have reacted so. She would have to go back, and—

No, no, she couldn't. Gwendolyn shook her head to herself.

"You can't," she whispered to herself.

She just couldn't face Athena anymore. Not after this!

"You're being silly," she scolded herself. "She's just going to be engaged, for heaven's sake! She's not condemned, and neither are you! You will still be able to see her!"

But there was something inexplicably depressing about the whole thing. Gwendolyn felt that Athena would always be too busy for her.

Mr. Nittle suddenly climbed down the tree and hopped onto her shoulder. Petting the squirrel as gently as possible, she looked at Mr. Nittle.

"Athena is marrying," she said remorsefully. He made a clicking noise, and Gwendolyn nodded.

"Yes, that's what I think as well. She will always be too busy for me from now on. And I'm afraid I shall have to move on. What do you think?"

Mr. Nittle made moaning sounds.

"Oh, Mr. Nittle! Why?" Gwendolyn's face crumpled up, as if she was about to cry. "I so dearly need a friend."

Mr. Nittle bit her ear gently, and Gwendolyn jumped, clapping a hand over her ear.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Nittle, you are enough of a friend," Gwendolyn said, but her mind did not agree with the words that came out of her mouth.

Mr. Nittle bounced off of her shoulder and scampered away. Gwendolyn immediately began to cry, the tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red very soon after she had started. Burying her face in her hands, she let the tears flow.

"Oh, it's perfectly awful of me. Perhaps I'm just jealous," she said, uncovering her face to gaze into the small lake before her. Lying on her stomach, she stared into the water, not seeing her own face, but Athena's, merry and excited at the prospect of marriage.

It struck her as curious that Athena would be excited just then. Normally, she would groan and moan about marriage, complaining to Gwendolyn that she would _not like to get married_, and that if her mother tried to make her marry anyone, she would run away.

Her finger raced over the water, creating ripples all over. Sighing, Gwendolyn slapped it with her hand and got up, then began to roam around the forest, every now and then stopping to stare at certain parts of it, parts where she and Athena had once talked, or played.

"I remember you," she said softly when she reached a large mound of dirt. They had sat on it in the dead of the night, gazing at the stars and talking of life and many other things. She read the script dug in and smiled slightly; "This mound is owned by the Star Sisters!" was written months ago. They called themselves the Star Sisters, something they had made up as children. She allowed herself a laugh before moving on to the tree they always climbed up on to spy on the baker, who had strange but rather intriguing habits. They had stopped, of course, years ago, when they decided to be what they called "mature".

"So many memories," Gwendolyn murmured, running a finger over an orange leaf that had fallen from the tree.

She continued on, stopping every now and then to pick up a flower and tuck it in her hair, remembering when she and Athena had pretended to be Greek goddesses, tucking flowers in their hair and lounging on bushes, pretending to be waiting for their lovers.

"You have the name of a Greek goddess," Gwendolyn had informed Athena one day.

Gwendolyn glided through the forest, touching things, picking things up, just reliving the old days. At one point she stopped at the edge of a long creek, stretching across as far as the eye could see. There was a strange half smile on her face as she gazed into the creek, remembering when she and Athena had gone swimming in it in the dead of the night, only a few months ago, and they had been caught by some gypsies, who stole their clothing. They had had to run through the forest, looking for the Forno trees, which had large enough leaves to cover themselves. They were even flexible enough, so they wouldn't tear if you wrapped it around yourself.

Gwendolyn pulled up her elegant silk dress, pulled off her shoes, and let her legs drop into the creek. The water would reach only up to her thighs, wouldn't it? She let the dress drop down into the frigid water and she began to wade in, nearly tripping over a rock at the bottom.

She went deeper in, until it reached—yes, her thighs. She kneeled on the rocks at the floor of the creek, allowing her hair to get wet. She began to swim downstream, beaming all the way.

After swimming for a few minutes, she realized that she hadn't been down this way. Was it perfectly safe? But she shoved that thought aside; it was all right, it would end _somewhere_.

And it did end—somewhere. She had been letting the current take her for quite a while, when she saw a drop—

A waterfall!

Oh, this would be so much fun, Gwendolyn thought eagerly. She did hope, however, that she wouldn't be hurt—

But it was too late to think of anything. The waterfall drew nearer and nearer. And suddenly, she was falling fast, her mouth open, a joyful scream pouring out, a scream she had been holding in for a long time. She felt as if she was _flying_!

But all too soon, the fun ended, and she hit the water at the bottom. Fortunately, it was a little deeper, going slightly above her waist. Her body was a little sore from the force of the slap, but she had enjoyed herself anyway.

"It's beautiful!" Gwendolyn gasped when she looked around.

The current pushed her farther into the creek, but it ended in a rounded curve, so she had no choice but to get out, dripping, to meet the even colder air. She shivered and decided that it would be best to take her dress off; after all, she would only take longer to dry _and _she would catch cold. She peeled it off and draped it over a rock, where the sun was shining brightly.

She took off her undergarments as well, then laid them down right next to her dress, and began looking around for means of escape. Was there some way to climb up the cliff? There seemed to be smoother spots…but she was not the best climber. Frowning slightly, she approached the cliffs surrounding her. Were there other means of escape? She looked around.

"Oh, dear," she said fretfully, but her demeanor suddenly changed when she saw a sliver of space between the cliffs, but large enough for anyone to go through. What lay beyond the space? She took a few steps up to the space, then peered into the gloom, unable to see farther than ten feet. Dare she try?

She ran back to the rock and pulled on the dress, leaving the undergarments on the rock. The dress was not dry at all, but she did not want to venture into unknown land without anything on.

She glanced back once, staring longingly at the waterfall.

"I'll visit you again, I promise," she whispered, and blew it a kiss. Then, feeling awfully silly, she turned back around and ran into the space between the two cliffs.

The mist was dreadful, and she often heard strange howling sounds. But she was not afraid—she was only interested in what lay beyond the space. Would it perhaps go up and then she would be able to return home? She hoped so; she did not want to worry her mother, or her father for that matter, even though it took a while to get _him_ worried.

"I shall just explore a little bit, then return home," she told herself. She smiled a little and began to trudge up the slant, until she realized that it _was _slanting. So it _must _lead back, she thought.

As she went farther up, the mist became heavier. She could barely see five feet ahead of her. And there were eerie sounds surrounding her, though they did not bother her in the least; the only thing that bothered her at that moment was the fact that it was taking an awfully long time to get up to the cliffs again.

At one point, there was the crack of a twig behind her, as if someone had stepped on one. She turned back to look, curious, but the mist fell quickly behind her, and she could not see anything. Shrugging, she turned back and walked on, whistling as she did so.

This is growing tiresome, she thought impatiently. When does it end?

She paused to stretch, her body still sore from falling into the creek with such a force. Then she moved on, pacing herself, for she knew she would become out of breath easily as she went farther up.

She stopped whistling and began to hum a tune she had heard of somewhere, perhaps from one of the maids back at home.

She heard another crack behind her. She turned around once again, but, just like last time, there was nothing to be seen through the heavy mist. What was all this mist, anyhow?

But it obviously did not really matter to her; she turned on her heel again and was facing only straight ahead, humming loudly (the deathly silence was annoying her).

She tripped and nearly fell, but then caught herself in time, her hand stretching out to grab a hold of anything. She dug her fingernails into the dirt of the cliff wall, then steadied herself. Wrenching out her hand again, she went on, until—

"Ohhh."

She had reached the top. And the view was beautiful! She took a few steps forward, beaming with pleasure. My, what an adventure she had had!

"It's beautiful," she moaned. There were mountains all spread out before her, separating the different worlds. She must be at the border! Oh, how she would love to visit the other world, Brailan, just beyond those mountains—she could see the glittering castle from where she was standing. It stood tall, proud, erect.

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"Oh, mother, I simply must go!"

Her mother crossed her arms over her bosom. "No," she said sternly. "I shall not having you go to Brailan without invitation! The king himself has to invite another royal family from another world before we can come on our own!"

Gwendolyn scowled. "I do not have to announce to Brailan who I really am, I can go as—as a maid! I could be their maid!"

"A princess posing as a _maid_?" her mother cried in scandalized tones.

"Oh, mother, please! I wish to have _adventure_! I wish to go across those mountains myself, walking with everything I can carry—"

"_Walking? Walking among the mountains where there are most certainly heathens!_"

"Don't call them heathens, mother. They're perfectly charming," Gwendolyn protested.

"Charming?" her mother shrieked. "_Charming_!"

Gwendolyn lowered her head, her anger bubbling.

"My dear girl, when we are to go, that is for the masquerade ball, in a year from now, the one he invites us to every year! You will be the proper age by then, and you will be able to go! And we will go by magic carpet, my dear, _not_ on foot."

"I want to go now!" Gwendolyn cried. "It looks so beautiful! I love nature! I want to really be on those mountains!"

"Perhaps we can make a few stops," her mother sniffed.

"But it is not the same," Gwendolyn said, nearly in tears now.

"Yes, it is. Subject dismissed."

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o

Gwendolyn pushed around her food with her fork, staring at it glumly. Her other sisters were chatting animatedly about the latest fashion. Mother was discussing the latest gossip. Only father was quiet, contemplating his daughter.

"Gwen," he said finally. "What is the matter? You look as if you've been sentenced to death, my dear girl."

Gwendolyn looked up, and she never saw her father in a kinder eye; his large, fluffy white beard, his curled mustache, and his small blue eyes looked friendlier than ever. But she could not tell him everything, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

"Apart from the fact that Athena is going to marry, I want to go to Brailan and mother won't let me? I'm perfectly fine."

"Athena is to marry? How perfectly wonderful!" her mother beamed. She had only approved of Athena because she thought that Athena "had a good influence" on Gwendolyn, in thinking that Athena would tame the wild Gwendolyn, when instead Gwendolyn made Athena wild.

"What is this about Brailan?" her father asked, looking inquiringly at the queen.

The woman raised her eyebrows slightly and pretended to be interested in her wine, taking a long sip of wine and ordering more.

"What is this about Brailan?" her father asked again, this time directing it toward Gwendolyn.

"I—had a sudden interest in it. I saw it earlier today from far away, and the mountains along the way looked beautiful. I so love nature, as you said so yourself many times, father. And I wanted dearly to go there, though mother doesn't want me to on foot."

Gwendolyn hadn't told anyone of her adventure that day, not even the waterfall. It was her secret.

"What is wrong with that?" her father asked, glancing at her mother. "If the girl wants to go, let her. You know how the fairies blessed her."

"I _know_, but on foot! Think of the gossip!" her mother said fretfully.

"Why should you mind? Gwendolyn would be setting a good example for women all around."

Gwendolyn smiled modestly. "Thank you, father," she said quietly.

"But posing as a _maid_?" her mother asked.

Her father turned to Gwendolyn abruptly. "What is this?"

"I would like to pose as a maid, not as myself. Mother said that the king has to invite royals from other worlds, and that we cannot just go there ourselves. I could work as a scullery maid! Or—"

"I shall not have my daughter posing as a maid!" her father said, his voice rising a little. "I would let you go as yourself on foot, but _not as a maid_!"

Her mother gave Gwendolyn a look that plainly said, "See?"

"Oh, please, father," Gwendolyn pleaded. "You know I don't fit in with royalty. I would only be a shame to you."

"You would be a shame to me if you posed as a maid!" the king roared.

The sisters, Andrea, Beatrice, and Catherine stopped talking and started to listen in on the argument.

Gwendolyn got up, shoved her chair in, threw a glare at everyone in the room, and then walked out of the dining room, slamming the large double doors behind her.

She climbed up the stairs until she reached her tower, where she locked herself in to stare out at the lights of Brailan.

But she could not get the line her father had said; "You would be a shame to me if you posed as a maid!" out of her head.

He had only said "me".

A tear rolled down her cheek. This on top of everything else—being a shame to her father? Most likely because of her lack of beauty.

For the first time in years, she got up to really look at herself in the floor length mirror. Her hair was horribly wavy and a dull brown, with only a slight hint of blond. And her eyes were the dullest hazel. Actually, they looked more brown, come to think of it. And her freckles were no longer sprinkled over her face, they were _covering_ her face. It was a storm of freckles. And she had big bones, she realized, pulling up her sleeve, nearly ripping it. These princess garments were too delicate for her.

She touched her nose, which looked like someone slapped it haphazardly on her face, instead of perfectly positioning and shaping it, like her sisters' dainty noses. She lacked the elegant cheekbones, the lightness of foot.

And her ears! Oh, dear. She had never really noticed them before. But they stuck out, brown and horrible looking. And she was brown all over! From the sun, she realized. Her sisters definitely did not go outside, hence their fair skin.

"I would be better as a lad," she said tearfully. Her strong build certainly was meant for a lad. She fell onto her bed and cried into her pillow.

"I need to be beautiful," she sobbed.

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o

Meanwhile, her mother and father were talking.

"At least let her go on foot. I will not allow her to pose as a maid, but on foot is all right," her father said, pacing the floor of the room.

"No," her mother said stoutly. "I _won't_ have it. She is a princess, and she will go with us next year by magic carpet."

"But, dear…"

"No, Gorlond. She is a princess and I am determined to make her one."

"She won't ever change. It was part of the blessing."

"If I can't change how she thinks, I'll change how she looks."

"What is wrong with how she looks?"

"Gorlond! She's…_ugly_."

"She doesn't seem ugly to me."

"Because you think of her as a _man_, Gorlond. But you need to think of her as a woman—what's more, a _princess_. And I'm going to make one of her yet!"

"At least let her go, Loryasia," the king begged. "I only want to see her happy."

"She'll be happy when she sees how beautiful she becomes with my work!" the queen cried, throwing her chest out proudly.

"Please, let her go…"

"She is _not _going. And that is _that_."


	3. Run Away

**Run away**

"Her majesty told me to put it on you."

"I don't want it!"

"It's her majesty's order, your highness."

Gwendolyn slapped the bottle of de-frecklizer away. "I don't want to listen to her."

Tara blushed a deep crimson. "Your highness," she said placidly. "Her majesty wishes you to stop going out of doors, and put this on to make your freckles fade."

"I am hopelessly freckled, and brown," Gwendolyn snapped. "And she can't take my life away from me."

"It's just the outdoors, your highness."

"Nature means everything to me!" Gwendolyn shoved the bottle away, watching it roll across the counter and fall down onto the floor.

Tara curtsied and hurried out. A moment later, however, she returned with the queen.

"Mother," Gwendolyn said stiffly. "_You can't do this_."

"Why ever not?"

"You're changing who I am!" Gwendolyn cried.

"Just your appearance," her mother said, opening a cabinet, pulling out bottles of lotions and oils, and putting them on the counter.

"What is wrong with my appearance?" Gwendolyn responded hotly.

"It is too wild, that is all," her mother said tranquilly, putting down a few bottles of hairspray on the counter as well.

Gwendolyn picked one up and looked at it disgustedly. " '_Soft hair in minutes_'?"

"They're very good, I use them myself," the queen said, patting her hair, which was coiled into an elegant bun at the back of her head.

Gwendolyn considered this new development. Perhaps she would _try_. After all, hadn't she been sobbing about her ugliness the other night?

"I shall try it," she snapped. "But allow me to go outside."

"The de-frecklizer will _not _work if you go outside. You have to wait at least a week! It says so on here." Queen Loryasia picked up the bottle of de-frecklizer and tapped the back of it, where there was tiny print.

How would she bear it? What about Mr. Nittle? What about her new waterfall?

But it was something she would have to do…if she wanted to be beautiful.

"We won't change the color of your hair," her mother was saying, "But it is in need of highlights. We shall have to use a new hair washing product, wouldn't we?"

Gwendolyn couldn't speak, only nodded. How could she go through with this?

"And a manicure, your nails are bitten down to nubs. First you need a bath…with this hair-washer." Her mother slapped a bottle of hair-washer into the girl's hand, who brought it to her face to examine it.

"And then we shall call my manicurists, then the beauty guru…"

The queen went on and on, Gwendolyn only half listening as she tried imagining what she would look like after. A princess? Perish the thought.

"… and of course, bone softeners."

Gwendolyn jerked out of her reverie. "What?" she asked loudly.

"Bone softeners," her mother repeated airily. "You have a strong build."

"What are _bone softeners_?"

"Exactly what they're called," her mother said, calling Tara to get a bath ready.

"How will _that _work?"

"They smooth you down. You put it in a bath. Tara, put this is in it when the bath is ready. And make the water hot, not lukewarm. And use this hair-washer. Hurry up, girl!"

Tara took the large bottle of "Bone softeners" and the hair-washer and hurried out of the room. In a moment, Gwendolyn could hear running water.

"Ye gods," she said. "I'm to be a _princess_."

"Which you are," her mother said, tapping her nose.

"But I mean…my mind will never change."

Her mother shrugged. "Perhaps beauty will change it."

Gwendolyn seriously doubted this.

"Your bath is ready, your highness," Tara said, entering the room. She curtsied, then left.

"Very well, Gwendolyn. Go and take your bath. As soon as you're dressed again, come to me. I'll be in here."

Gwendolyn took her bath, and the bone softener was certainly…softening. After she felt as if someone had rubbed off a few layers of skin, and when she looked in the mirror after, she still looked big-boned but not as much as before. And her hair was only slightly lighter.

But Gwendolyn was surprised at her reaction; she was not happy at all, as her mother thought she would be; on the contrary, she was quite displeased.

"She's changing who I am," she said. "Not in my mind, but visually."

But she had been crying last night, hadn't she? So she must try it. If she didn't like what was happening to her, she could stop…couldn't she?

"I'm ready," Gwendolyn said upon entering her bathroom again.

"Very well. I shall ring my manicurists, and the beauty guru to rub the lotions and cream on you to make you fairer…and the de-frecklizer, and the—"

"Mother, can't I do those things myself?"

"You are a princess, it is against your kind," her mother replied firmly, and Gwendolyn backed down immediately.

Queen Loryasia pulled the two bells, one labeled "Beauty Guru" the other "Manicurists." They came in almost immediately, gasping for breath as though they had run.

Queen Loryasia explained everything to them, and then they all went to the west tower, where there was a swivel chair that could turn into something like a bed.

"Sit down," the beauty guru said crisply. "And please remove your garments." The beauty guru handed Gwendolyn towels to wrap around herself.

"Put your right hand on the table beside it, and your left on the table beside it," one of the manicurists said, sitting down in a chair and pulling it up to her right hand, which was now resting on the table. The other manicurist pulled up a chair beside her left hand, and they brought out everything they needed, then set to work. They filed, they snipped, they washed, they painted. And the beauty guru had made the chair stretch out into a bed, then began to rub in oils on her face, her shoulders, her arms, her neck, her legs…then creams and lotions were applied, then more ridiculous things. And then the beauty guru did her hair, spraying hairspray in it, rubbing creams in…

In the end, Gwendolyn found her nails a pearl color, shaped perfectly, and underneath they were clean. And her body felt softer, not rough like it usually had. And she _smelled_ magnificent; there was the heavy scent of roses hanging in the air.

"Thank you very much, ladies," her mother said, smiling in appreciation and satisfaction at the work they had done.

Gwendolyn went to a mirror and circled, staring at herself. She did not like it at all. Well, perhaps on another person…but on her!

She was indeed fairer, and her freckles were paler, and somehow the manicurists had minimized the damage she had done to her fingernails.

"You look beautiful," the queen sighed.

Gwendolyn shook her now straight hair, nearly crying. "I hate it!" she cried, and began to run to the bath.

"Oh, no you don't," the queen said, catching her round the waist. "You will let all this cream and de-frecklizer sink in. And you are _not _getting rid of your nail paint!"

Gwendolyn immediately chomped down on a nail, relishing the look of horror on her mother's face.

"You—!"

Gwendolyn smiled pleasantly, and then walked out, her mother shouting nonsense behind her.

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o

"You look exquisite, my dear," the king said during lunch, admiring his daughter from his end of the table.

"I hate it," Gwendolyn seethed. "And you will never change me!" she shot at her mother, who was cutting her meat up serenely.

"I believe I just have," her mother said, looking up to meet Gwendolyn's eye. "Look at you! You're beautiful."

"You think I'm always ugly—and ordinary. But that doesn't matter. Because I'm not meant to be a princess!"

Her mother just shrugged. "What ever you say, sweetheart."

Gwendolyn got up, this time not slamming anything or throwing down her utensils. She ran all the way up the stairs to go to her tower, where she collapsed on the bed, gasping for breath, her heart thumping wildly against her chest, as if asking to be let out.

"Yes, yes, let me _out_!" she cried, and, without ringing up a maid, she prepared a bath for herself. She washed all the creams, lotions, and even the nail paint off, scrubbing herself until she looking regular. And when her hair dried, it was wavy again, and the same brown color. It looked as though she had stepped out of a shell as a completely different person from the one she looked before.

The girl pulled off the dress and tossed it on her bed. Then she put on the plainest dress she could find (which was still rather fancy) and pulled out a plain black traveling cloak, something she had borrowed from Athena a few months ago and had forgotten to return.

"This will do," she said, putting it on. She kicked off her heels and stockings, and then sat down at her desk.

Pulling a piece of paper toward her, she picked up a quill and began to write:

_Dear mother and father,_

_I have gone away. Do not be alarmed; I will be quite alright on my own. I cannot tell you where I will be going, but be assured that I will be quite fine. Do not try and search for me, it will be no use. _

_And I refuse to be beautiful, mother. That is mostly the reason I am leaving. I want to be myself._

_Love,_

Gwendolyn 

Gwendolyn left it on her desk, then ran to her balcony and climbed down the ivy, carefully avoiding the windows. When she reached the ground, she darted away, into the forest.

When she arrived at the creek, she began to follow it, then ended up in a run, hoping her parents hadn't found the letter yet and still thought she was in her tower. She stopped at the edge of the cliff and skirted around it, looking down and remembering. Her undergarments were quite gone, or at least it looked like it from way up here.

Suddenly there was a chattering noise, and a squirrel came scurrying over to her. He stopped at her feet and stared up at her, clutching a nut between its paws.

"Oh, Mr. Nittle," Gwendolyn bent down and picked up the squirrel, placing it on her shoulder. "I am running away from home. Would you like to come with me?"

Mr. Nittle bit her gently in a "Yes".

"Very well. Let's go!"

She began to race around the edges of the cliff, until she reached the point where she had really seen Brailan.

"That is our destination," she said, pointing. "Brailan."

She got down on her belly and peered down the cliff, feeling dizzy from looking down.

"It must be miles down," she said softly. "Too bad there isn't a waterfall to carry us."

Mr. Nittle began to make shrieking noises.

"Oh, I suppose you are right. That would be your death sentence." She laughed a little.

She looked around. Should she climb down?

It seemed the only possible way—but it was very flat! There was nothing to help her climb down.

"What are to do?" she asked fretfully.

Mr. Nittle made a moaning sound.

"I don't think there _is_ another way. I should've just used a magic carpet," Gwendolyn sighed.

Mr. Nittle suddenly started hopping madly on Gwendolyn's shoulder, chattering crazily. The nut dropped from his grip.

"Gracious!" Gwendolyn crept closer and realized that there was indeed a magic carpet—that looked the exact color of the ground beneath her feet. It sat up, then levitated in the air, waiting for her to get on.

"Shall I?"

Mr. Nittle chattered excitedly, and so Gwendolyn approached it cautiously, and sat down gingerly, but before she could get a comfortable position, the magic carpet zoomed down, speeding as it neared the ground. Gwendolyn flattened herself on the carpet, screaming, Mr. Nittle's fur flattened by the speed. And quite suddenly, the carpet bucked her off and flew away, replacing itself on the top of the cliff.

Gwendolyn rubbed her face, which was smacked on the ground when the carpet bucked her off.

"Well, I suppose it was there for a reason," she said, smiling slightly. Mr. Nittle hid behind her hair, still frightened from the ride.

"It's all right," she giggled, petting the squirrel on the head. He whimpered.

She looked up at the sky, smiled, and then began her journey to Brailan.


	4. Introducing Gwendolyn to the world

**Introducing Gwendolyn to the world**

Gwendolyn had been walking for days. Her body was weak with hunger and exhaustion from the endless walking. The mountains between Brailan and Lorayne were quite bare and not as beautiful as they looked from high up, but the occasional forests were pleasant and cool, though she never found edible food. The berries she found were always either rotten or just poisonous, and grass was neither healthy nor tasty to munch on. She had taken to crunching on the flowers she found, and she used strips of Forno leaves to hold her clothing together.

Mr. Nittle, however, was perfectly content with the grass, though he _had _shrunk considerably.

Gwendolyn threw her cloak over her head to shield herself from the heavy rain. She walked through the muck to the cover of the forest ahead, but then broke into a run, not wanting to be soaking wet.

When she finally reached the cover of tress, it was only slightly damp inside. She draped her wet cloak over a tree branch and sat down in the dim light, the trees blocking out the light from the setting sun.

She definitely saw no Forno trees, and the few flowers that were there were either wilted or dead. The only trees in sight were pinecone trees.

Gwendolyn was shaking with hunger and coldness, but then she forced herself to get up and find wood to make a fire.

She found sticks, and she gathered them together, then took two and began to rub them together.

"How do you do this?" she muttered, looking quite uncertain. The only way she could think of was to scrape two sticks together.

Still looking extremely doubtful, she began to rub the sticks together for a while, but to no avail. Licking her chapped lips, she shoved a strand of loose hair behind her ear and rubbed harder. After what seemed like an hour, she gave up.

"I can't do this," she sighed to Mr. Nittle, who had been nibbling on a stick. He looked up at her with his large, unblinking eyes, then returned to his stick, as if to say "Whatever".

She got up and sauntered over to another pinecone tree, peering around fallen branches and bushes. With a shout, she leapt over a bush and fell on her knees by a small creek, grinning from ear to ear.

Without a word, she began to pull off her dress and cloak. Her body was wet with sweat and her fingernails had cakes of dirt under them. Hopping in, she began to bathe, rubbing furiously at the grime on her face, then in her hair; she had not bathed for days.

Soon Mr. Nittle joined her, cautiously sticking a foot in the water, then leaping back.

Gwendolyn giggled and kneeled on the bottom of the creek, leaning her neck back to let the water run through her hair, watching the dirt float away.

She remained in the creek for a few hours, rubbing herself until she was rubbed raw, but clean.

She stepped out, dripping, and lay in the warmest spot she could find. This spot was on a rock directly beside the creek, and if she should roll over, she was very likely to slip into the creek.

She lay there for an hour, just drying herself, closing her eyes slightly, feeling the cool wind that occasionally blew on her face, a small smile playing on her lips. But then she was done drying, and she got up to dress herself.

She went back to where Mr. Nittle was, and found he had fallen asleep in a furry lump. She lay down next to him and closed her eyes. The grass was soft, and comfortable. In moments she was in a deep sleep.

Hours passed by. It grew darker with each one. And then came the gypsies.

They had heard Gwendolyn splashing about in the creek, and were intent on finding the cause of the noise, when they usually experienced absolutelyno one.

They came upon her, on her side, her hands clasped over her stomach. Her eyes were closed lightly, her lashes resting on her cheeks. One of the gypsies held a finger to his lips, grinning viciously, and prodded her.

The girl made a sniffing sound and rolled over onto her stomach, a little grunt sounding before she quieted down again, quite still.

"Just carry her," hissed one of the men, who was interested in the girl, who would be a perfect friend for his only daughter.

"What will we do with her?"

Not wanting to seem soft, the man said, "I know something that will keep her busy."

The other men shrugged and lifted her as easily as if she were a feather. They walked for a few minutes before coming upon a clearing in the forest, where a fire was glowing, spitting sparks into the air, men and women alike sitting around it, laughing and enjoying a meal.

"I'll take her," the man said, picking her up and carrying her to his tent. He lay her down next to his thirteen year old daughter, who was fast asleep. He took one last look at the peaceful face and wondered if he had been right in doing this (what if she had a family nearby?), before quickly leaving, the tent flap going down again, his thoughts shoved away by hunger. He sat down by his wife around the fire and took some food, and began to eat.

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o

When Gwendolyn woke up, she saw a girl lying next to her, her eyes half closed, and she jumped up quickly, but her head hit the top of the tent, and she looked around, realizing where she was.

Gwendolyn nervously touched the girl, afraid she might be dead. But the girl's eyelids fluttered and the girl said, "Hmmm?" before returning to her slumber.

Gwendolyn pulled the flap of the tent and stepped out. She looked around and came to the conclusion that this was a gypsy camp, and that it was morning, and—

"Good morning."

Gwendolyn jumped and looked up at the man who had spoken to her, the man who had appeared out of no where.

"Good morning," she said. "Pardon me, sir, but I was wondering…"

"Where you are?"

"Oh no, I know where I am," she said, looking around and recognizing the pinecone trees. "I was just wondering how I got here."

The man looked nervous. "Oh, if you want to go back to your family—"

"Oh, no," Gwendolyn said quickly. "I—" she paused, then decided that it wouldn't be very smart to tell him of her royalty. "I have gone out into the world, and my parents live far away. I do not want to return to them."

"I see," the man said, still looking slightly edgy. "Well, then, I took you. The other men and I heard you earlier and decided to look around; we are not used to other people, you see, we thought we were quite alone out in the middle of no where. And then we saw you, and I thought you might be a good…friend of my daughter."

Gwendolyn gestured toward the tent she had just come out of. "Is that her in there?" she asked.

"Yes," the man said.

"Very well, then," Gwendolyn replied. Her stomach screamed for food, as she had not eaten in days. "Er…do you have food?"

The man looked very serious and melancholy as he said, "I'm so sorry. We haven't had food in a long time."

Gwendolyn put a hand to her mouth, surprised for them and also afraid that she would die if she didn't eat, when the man burst out laughing.

"Of course we have food," he said. He steered her over to a pile of wood, which, from the look of it, had had a fire. He sat her down on a log and said, "Wait right here, I'll get you something to eat."

Her stomach growled in the reply, and the man laughed again before heading back to a tent. When he came out, he had beans, salad, some meat, and fruit, all piled onto a piece of Forno leaf, which was strong enough to carry all of the food.

"Thank you," the poor girl gasped, and she ate the food at once, gobbling it up until there was nothing more.

Surprisingly, when the plate was cleared, she was quite full, and did not require any more.

"Have some coffee," the man said, holding out a mug toward her. She drank the strange bitter liquid and grimaced.

"Do you not like it?"

"Oh, no," Gwendolyn said quickly. "I like the taste very much—it's simply very strong."

"Yes, it is extremely strong," the man agreed, nodding and drinking his own mug.

They sat in silence for a while, before Gwendolyn voiced the question that was running around and around in her head.

"Where did you get food and drink and…everything?"

The man set down his mug beside him and leaned his elbows on his knees. "We usually carry around dried fruits and meat, but the food you ate is fresh. If you go farther into the forest, you will find food; animals to kill, fruits, an some lettuce, of course. And we nicked the mugs and cutlery and…" the man waved his hand in the air. "I hope you don't judge us like the rest of you people do."

Gwendolyn shook her head, her eyes wide. "I never really thought of it as bad, or evil."

They were silent for a little while longer.

"What is your name?"

Gwendolyn looked up. "Gwendolyn," she said. "And yours?"

The man smiled. "Arman."

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o  
For the next few weeks, Gwendolyn lived and worked with the gypsies, entertained Arman's daughter, Vena, and lived like she was Arman's daughter. Arman was a very kind, middle aged man, whose heart had never truly wished for Gwendolyn to be taken the way she was, though when he told her every detail, she still did not mind.

"I like it here," she insisted. "I don't ever want to leave."

But then Brailan came into her mind, and at times she found herself daydreaming about it, though she did not want to leave Arman, because he was growing ill.

Mr. Nittle had come earlier, and he loved sitting on Arman while the man tickled the squirrel behind the ears, told him stories about his childhood (while Mr. Nittle sat, staring at the man, alert and quiet), or just sat outside, enjoying the weather or watching one of the women dance. Mr. Nittle grew very close to Arman, and he rarely followed Gwendolyn around. Instead, he took to perching on the man's knee, allowing himself to be fawned over and petted.

One day, Arman fell into a fit of coughing. Blood was pouring into his mouth. Gwendolyn, who was transfixed with horror, finally returned to her body and ran to fetch a bowl of water, where she placed Arman's hands and then ripped some cloth from her cloak and pressed it to the man's mouth, feeling the warm blood through the cloth.

Arman coughed harder, until his whole body shook from the effort, the hacking cough growing louder and louder, while making his body tremble even more. Finally, his hands shook so hard that the bowl was knocked over and crashed to the ground, water spilling over the dirt. Arman stopped after a few minutes, and Gwendolyn dropped the blood soaked cloth on the ground and instructed Arman to breathe, while the women and men around him rushed around in panic, fetching all sorts of herbs and other things to try and help him ease the coughing, which they knew would come back, and to sooth his throat, which was probably terribly sore.

Arman was extremely pale when he summoned his wife and daughter and requested to talk alone with them. The men and women stuffed sachets of herbs and other things into his still trembling hands before hurrying away, to the other side of the camp. Gwendolyn made to follow them, but Arman stopped her, holding out a hand to prevent her from going farther.

His wife, Naida, was crying. Vena was silent, but Gwendolyn could see the fear on her face. And Gwendolyn was frightened, her face pale, even her freckles faded to tiny spots.

"My dears," he began in a raspy voice. He lowered it as he continued.

"My dears, I wish for you all to do whatever you want. When I die I want for you to burn my body and sprinkle the ashes in the creek and let the float away. Get rid of all my things, they will have germs from my illness. Throw out the tent I sleep in as well; we don't want anything getting around. And let Gwendolyn do whatever she wants."

Arman turned to Gwendolyn, who had tears rolling down her cheeks. "Gwendolyn," he said, smiling gently at her. "I want you to continue to Brailan. You don't belong here. Brailan is only at least two days away, and you can request food and sturdier clothing, and then you and dear Mr. Nittle can go to Brailan."

Gwendolyn nodded, her tears splashing on the ground. Arman smiled. "I do want to stay here, though," she said in a cracked voice.

Arman smiled slightly.

"Now I am at peace," he said in a voice that was almost a sigh in the wind, and he closed his eyes and leaned back into his favorite chair.

All his wishes were carried out; the somber ceremony that followed his death went exactly as he had wished it. They burned him, watching turn to nothing but ash, then gathered his ashes and threw them into the creek.

Naida offered Gwendolyn some of the ashes ("He loved you as a daughter," she said) but Gwendolyn refused, throwing her hands behind her back. She stared, wide-eyed and miserable, as the ashes were scattered over the creek then carried away, swishing right by her. Vena began to wail, and Naida steered her back to their tent.

After a week, it was almost as if Arman had never been there, but had it not been for the depressing air of the camp, anyone new would have no idea of anything at all.

Things, however, returned to almost normal after a month or two. Vena and Naida were still in tears, and they did not know what it was like to be dry-faced.

One night, when Gwendolyn was sitting alone, eating her dinner away from the other gypsies, a young man about her age she had spotted weeks before came up behind her.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a thick Romanian accent.

Gwendolyn looked up from her untouched beans, then resumed her staring at the stars. "Yes," she said pensively.

The boy sat down beside her on the log, contemplating the stars as well.

Gwendolyn managed to eat some food before setting it down on the ground, not very hungry. She was quiet, watching the boy from the corner of her eye now, wondering what he wanted.

Then suddenly, she was whipped around and his lips were on hers, a hand sliding down to her waist. Gwendolyn, who was not very adept in the world of men, did not know what to do, and just allowed herself to be kissed and touched, before he pulled away, casually said, "Good night", got up and walked away.

Gwendolyn was bright red, and was thankful for the dark. She sat there for many minutes more, brooding over the kiss, before returning to her tent and falling asleep.

The next morning, when she saw the boy, she smiled slightly, and he smiled back and started toward her. He took her hand in his and led her away, to the crows and whistles of the boys of his age.

He pulled her until they were far away from the camp, until it was so deathly quiet and still that Gwendolyn wondered whether there was anyone around here at all besides them.

"What is your name?" she asked, before the kissing she knew he intended on doing started.

"Leo," the boy said, and then began to kiss her, leaning her up against a tree and pressing into her, his hands sliding down her dress.

Gwendolyn suddenly shrieked and bounced away, straightening her dress and staring at him.

"What were you _doing_?" she cried. As was mentioned before, she did not know nor understand the whole new world of…what was it? Kissing? Or just being…an adult?

The boy was grinning roguishly and took a giant step toward her to resume the kissing.

"NO!" Gwendolyn jumped back, nearly falling into a tree. Steadying herself, she looked at him.

"What were you doing?" she repeated.

The boy looked truly surprised then. "Do you really mean it when you say that?"

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes to the heavens and said, "What _else _would I mean?"

Leo shuffled his feet. "_Well_," he said. "Most women would mean it as in the way that they don't _like _it. But you really don't understand?"

Gwendolyn nodded, her eyebrows raised.

"Er, well…" Leo looked at his toes, a blush creeping up into his face. "You know how babies come into the world, don't you?"

Gwendolyn hit his head. "Of course I do!" she said hotly, turning red herself.

"Well…when people fall in love, they usually…"

"I KNOW ABOUT THAT!"

"Well, not right away, but they kind of…get used to each other…" Leo shrugged his shoulders suddenly, his face bright red. "It's rather hard to explain."

Gwendolyn now looked less confused, however. "I think I understand…" she said slowly. "Though I must tell you that it has never been on my mind…like most girls…"

Leo looked relieved. "So you understand some of it."

Gwendolyn turned away. "I suppose so, yes."

Leo cleared the space between them once more. "May I kiss you again?" he asked gently, tilting up her face with a finger.

Gwendolyn felt a warmth spread from where his finger touched to her toes, and soon she was blushing even harder, if that was possible, and she felt a little jittery.

"Yes," she said in a voice that was almost a whisper, and he kissed her again.

"Welcome to the world, Gwen," Leo said after a few minutes of kissing.

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o

They were together for a few weeks, soon getting to know each other, and then kissing some more. And then one night, they fell apart.

The day had been perfect for Gwendolyn. She had spent the day with Leo, talking, occasionally falling into a passionate kissing episode, then tearing themselves apart, both of them smiling rather sheepishly and continuing their conversation. Gwendolyn sang as she worked with Vena, helping her wash some clothing in the creek.

That night at dinner, Gwendolyn waited for Leo, sitting where they had first kissed. They had eaten there every night since then, together, alone, normally forgetting their food as they talked on and on.

Gwendolyn looked around, hesitant. Where was he? She sat there for at least ten more minutes, then got up and made her way back to the fire, where everyone else was eating, planning to see if he was there.

She did not see him. She then started toward his tent. The flap was open when she approached it, and she quickened her pace, opening her mouth to call Leo. Then she saw a flash of familiar brown hair, and she rounded the tent, grinning, opening her mouth to call him, when—

Her mouth hung open, and she felt slightly sick at the scene that lay before her. It was Leo, indeed, though not alone, as she had thought. He was with a pretty girl that she recognized as one of the daughters of the men who had been friends with Arman. And he and the pretty girl were kissing.

Gwendolyn felt her heart breaking. Hadn't Leo loved her? _Didn't_ he?

She clapped a hand to her mouth and ran, her eyes getting watery. She went into the tent she shared with Vena and sat down, hugging herself, curling her feet underneath her. She stared into the darkness, and her strangled sobs sounded throughout the tent.

------o----------o------------o-----------------o-------------------------o---------------------------o

Leo never came back. He did not even offer any apology, or explanation. He continued with the girl, but then Gwendolyn saw another, even prettier girl after the one she had seen kissing him behind his tent, and then, a few weeks later, _another _girl. She concluded that Leo was merely a seducer, and should not lose her heart because of him.

But she still could not remember when she had been happier. It had been the first time that any sort of boy had paid her any sort of attention in an attracted way. But in time, her heart mended, and she found herself sniffing in disgust around Leo whenever she saw another girl with him, and she retrieved her dreams of Brailan.

It had been almost a year since she had left her parents in Lorayne. She had started out for Brailan, so why didn't she continue her journey?

And so, she requested sturdier clothing and food for her journey, and Naida made her a lovely pair of boots, tunic, and breeches, which she said were better for traveling than a dress. She gathered together dried fruits and meat, wrapped them all in a big bundle, and gave Gwendolyn her blessings for the journey.

Some of the gypsies, excluding Leo but including Naida and Vena, came to see her off.

"Have this knife, you can use it to protect you," Naida handed her a small knife. Gwendolyn smiled and nodded gratefully, tucking the knife in her belt, making sure it was keep still and not fall out.

"You might do well with this," a man said, producing a bow and a quiver of arrows. He slung them on her back. "They will be useful for hunting."

Gwendolyn did not mention she did not know how to use a bow and arrow. Instead, she nodded again and thanked the man.

Naida enveloped Gwendolyn in her arms and kissed her forehead.

"You will always be in our hearts, Gwendolyn, dear."

Vena also hugged Gwendolyn.

"You will come back, won't you, Gwen?" the girl said, her bottom lip quivering.

"I shall try," she said sincerely.

Gwendolyn turned around and began to walk into the forest. "Which way?" she called back.

One of the men pointed to her right. "Go that way for a while, and once you come out of the forest, you will be on plain land with no trees or bushes or anything. You will continue on, straight, but once you're out of the forest you'll be able to find your way."

"Thank you, and good bye again!" Gwendolyn waved and turned back around, and began to walk to her right. Soon the bushes obscured the gypsies from view, but she could hear the calls of good bye and one final call:

"God be with you, lady!"


End file.
